


The Pull of the Waves

by sebvxns (bluecherries)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, None of That Is Between Hannibal and Will, Past Sexual Assault, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trigger Warning!, Warnings In Chapter Notes, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, Will Graham Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Will Has Some Serious Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecherries/pseuds/sebvxns
Summary: Will Graham is severely traumatized, this everyone knows. But there are some things about his past--or, more specifically, one thing in particular--they don't know, and Will intends to keep it that way.Then he meets Hannibal Lecter, and those walls begin to come crumbling down.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not take, re-post, or translate this work without my permission. While I sincerely appreciate any interest in sharing it, I would be extremely grateful if you could please ask me first. Thank you!
> 
> Warning:  
> There'll be strong language throughout, and this fanfic isn't exactly kid-friendly. Make sure to read each chapter's trigger warnings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Anxiety attack, graphic depictions of violence

Buzz… buzz… buzz…

The sound called Will up from somewhere dark and warm, called him back to his hot, sweat-dampened bed. He let out a soft whimper at the disturbance and flipped over to face his nightstand, burying the left side of his face in the comfort of his pillow. He sniffled and picked up his buzzing phone, rubbing his eyes; trying to get them to adjust enough to read the time on the screen. 

Five-twenty-six a.m.

He groaned and pressed the green answer button, knowing full well what he was about to hear.

“Will Graham”, he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s Jack.” Will knew that already. “Listen, we’ve got a bad one. I need you here A.S.A.P.”

  
He said A.S.A.P like it was one word, rather than an abbreviation. That had always ticked Will off. He told Jack he’d be there soon, trying his best to make his tone sound less distressed than he felt. Before Will could even finish his sentence, he heard the melodic pips of the dial tone, signifying Jack had hung up on him. 

He sighed and tossed his phone on the bed, struggling only slightly to untangle himself from the sticky sheets. It had been one of the rare nights where Will was able to drift off, which meant that his night was punctuated by feverish nightmares, all depicting the same horrifying memory that Will refused to let himself think about whilst awake. He knew he couldn’t stop his subconscious from replaying it like a broken record, but he could usually stop his conscious mind from doing so. Usually.

Will hopped in the shower for a quick rinse, his eyes still not fully accustomed to the light. The cold water was a blessed relief against his hot skin. Standing in front of the mirror, he rustled his wet hair with a thin, worn towel, and sighed, studying the man staring back at him. 

He was a god-damned mess. Greenish-blue bags set under sad eyes, chapped lips permanently sitting in a slight frown. He was the saddest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. And that was saying a lot, considering he visited disturbingly creative crime scenes for a living. 

…

Later that morning, Will was standing in front of a beaten, bloodied corpse. It was dressed in a pink fur-suit, limbs broken and dangling in awkward positions. The lifeless body (though it looked more like some kind of fucked-up piñata than a human corpse) was hanging by its hands from the ceiling.

_Nothing like a dead body to wake you up, huh?_ He thought.

Zeller and Price were milling about the crime scene, taking notes and examining evidence. They always seemed to do this with a sort of practiced ease, suggesting an impressive indifference to the horrifying sights they dealt with on a daily basis. 

Will wished he had what they did. 

Beverly approached Will and Jack, who were standing in the middle of the room side by side. 

“Our guy’s name is Maddox Spiel. Thirty-one years old, no known friends or family- his parents died the _day_ after his eighteenth birthday.”

“So high-risk. Got it,” Jack said, nodding. But instead of nodding along with him, Beverly grinned.

“That’s the thing. Mr. Spiel here has been transferring about a hundred grand to his bank account every month. He wasn’t exactly living uncomfortably.”

Will’s brow furrowed like it always did when he was thinking hard about something. Was he some sort of top-tier hooker? Did he have a secret lover? A million possibilities ran through Will’s head, but only one seemed to stick. His mouth formed a little “o” as he realized why Maddox Spiel had so much money.

“Will? You onto something?” Beverly asked, noticing the face he was making.

He nodded frantically and leaned over Beverly’s shoulder to see the chart. Seeing that his hypothesis was correct, he smiled softly, and turned to Jack.

“Mr. Spiel was a pastor. According to his social media, he’d never been religious before- so why start now? All of a sudden?”

Jack shrugged, confused.

“I don’t know. Maybe some kind of spiritual awakening, or something along those lines?”

“No, no, no… do you know what the one organization is that is exempt from filing financial information with the IRS?”

“…Churches.”

“Exactly. My guess is Mr. Spiel was embezzling funds through the church.”

Jack and Beverly both made “oh” faces, and Beverly gave Will’s shoulder a good-natured nudge, smiling. With a curt nod directed at Will, Jack waved at Price and Zeller, motioning for them to leave the room. 

“Can everyone please step outside for a few moments?” He yelled, and a dozen forensic experts scuttled out of the room. Jack gave Will an understanding nod and left him to do what he did best. He could still feel Jack standing in the doorway, waiting for his analysis; but it was always easy to block his presence out. Will took a deep breath, taking in his surroundings, and let his eyelids flutter shut. One breath after another, he allowed the helmet he kept over his senses to slip off.

As he opened them again, the familiar bars of light, accompanied by a soft whoosh, began to rebuild the crime scene for him. With each swing of the pendulum, something else reset itself to the way it had been before the murder. Finally, after the hum of the bars had lulled, Will found that Maddox Spiel was sitting against the wall, bound and gagged, already dressed in the fuzzy bear costume. He casually walked towards him, now deep-set into the mind of the killer. He felt his face twist into a sick smile at the pure fear and trauma in Mr. Spiel’s cries.

This was such _fun_.

Will grabbed his arms, tying a rope around his zip-tied wrists with a neat figure-eight knot. He stood on a chair to reach the ceiling and noticed a pre-installed hook.

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” he whispered softly, threading the other end of the rope through the hook. He began to narrate his actions as he went along. “I get ready to hang Mr. Spiel. Every part of my meticulous plan is going exactly how I want it to.” 

He pulled Maddox Spiel up onto the chair so that his neck wouldn’t break immediately when he tied off the rope. The crying and begging was _really_ starting to get on Will’s nerves. He estimated the length of the rope from Mr. Spiel’s head to the ceiling, and made sure there was just enough length so that his neck wouldn’t snap; he’d just be choking instead.

“I don’t want him to die, I just want him to suffer. I need to make sure he doesn’t die before I have my fun.” He tied off the noose and grabbed his baseball bat from where it sat near the door. He began to beat Mr. Spiel repeatedly, snapping his bones, busting his skin open. 

“This is a party, and Maddox Spiel is my piñata.” His words were punctuated by strained grunts. 

He was blinded by the bright passions of enjoyment and pleasure. Satisfaction flooded his body, a cool, sweet relief, and he knew as much as felt why the killer was doing this. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned to Jack. 

“He’s doing this because he’s bored.”

Jack grinned, his face swelling with pride. He swept the forensic examiners back into the crime scene to continue doing their jobs, and gave Will a friendly pat on the shoulder, letting him know that he was grateful. Will offered him a tight smile in return. Jack didn’t seem to notice, and followed Zeller and Price back into the room. 

The next breath he took was far too shallow; his chest constricting tightly, forcing the breath out of him. His head was already buzzing with panic. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he’d been warding this off from the moment he arrived on site, but he was too preoccupied at the moment to really think about it. Suddenly, he became _very_ aware of the closeness of the walls. 

He was dimly aware of the presence of someone in the doorway, some unfamiliar agent wondering if everything was all right.

He wished this were an asthma attack, or an allergic reaction; something that could be easily fixed with a few puffs of albuterol or a shot of epinephrine. This… this thing could never be fixed. It would never go away, never leave him alone, never let him live his life in peace. 

He was vaguely aware of the agents gathering in the doorway. A flood of navy blue, suffocating him. He wanted them away. He wanted them all away, miles away. He was too hot, dizzy, his vision filled with the red of blood despite the fact that he was no longer looking at the mangled corpse. Every sound around him was deafened by screams from inside his head.

He felt the world closing in on him, his senses dialed to 11 and threatening to burst. He could feel the muscles around his neck and shoulders tighten, his face reddening. 

He sank to the floor, shielding his eyes from the too-bright lights with the palms of his hands. 

And then the sea of blue jackets parted.

“Will, are you okay? What should I do?” Jack. He watched Will with wide, horrified eyes. Will tried to talk, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much to do anything: talk, think, breathe… The thick miasma of death and despair was suffocating him, wrapping its slender fingers around his throat and squeezing the life out. He desperately wanted to cry, but Jack had been so proud of him before. Would he still be proud if he started crying? Doubtful. Trained FBI profilers didn’t cry at crime scenes. Then again, they didn’t have panic attacks, either… Will didn’t know if crying was crossing the line, and he wasn’t about to find out. He could hear someone mumbling in the background- or at least it sounded like mumbling to him.

  
A moment later, he felt someone wrap an arm around his shoulders. Will tried to fight back, to push the person away. Too close, just let me breathe… But he was far too weak, too disoriented, and he was wrapped up tightly by warm arms. He rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes, allowing someone’s hand to gently pat his back. 

  
When breath finally came, it was a rush of cold air. He gasped and choked, beyond glad to be able to breathe clearly again. He looked to his savior, shielding his eyes with his hand, and was relieved at whose face he found.

  
“Bev,” he whispered.

  
She smiled sadly, her bright, weary eyes shining. 

  
“It’s me. Now, shh.”

  
Disregarding Beverly’s instructions, he blinked his eyes open, squinting in the too-harsh lighting. The swarm of navy blue jackets was still there, broken by a gray suit that Will knew was Jack. He let his heavy eyelids close and tried to focus only on here and now. Here and now. Finally, when seconds, or minutes, or hours had passed (Will couldn’t be sure which), he managed to clear his throat.

  
“I’m okay.”

  
“Are you sure?”

  
He nodded his head yes, though he wasn’t quite sure himself. Even when he stood up, he grabbed Beverly’s arm, afraid he might keel over. “May I please have some water?” Someone from the sea of blue handed him their water bottle, for which Will was extremely grateful. 

  
“Thank you,” he said, directed at the of the dense blue throng of people.

  
…

  
Fresh air helped immensely. He felt better sitting on the steps outside, sipping on the same water bottle that had been handed to him earlier. Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Will’s breath caught in his throat, a flush of anxiety flooding back through his veins. 

  
“Yes, Jack?”

  
Jack sat down next to him, his facial expressions next to impossible to read. Will made a rare attempt at eye contact in an effort to read what he was thinking. Jack, however, continued to stare straight ahead, as if he were trying to bore holes in the cement.

  
“Well, first of all- how are you feeling?” He said, not looking up.

  
“I’m as good as one can be after having a nervous breakdown in front of thirty FBI agents, Jack.”

  
“Fair enough. Listen, Will…”

  
And here it was. This was it. Jack was going to tell Will that he didn’t need him to consult on cases anymore. He’d finally had enough of Will’s instability and decided that he was more trouble than he was worth. His chest began to tighten up again. 

  
“I want you to talk to someone.”

  
What?

  
On the list of things Will had expected Jack to say to him, “I want you to talk to someone” was surprisingly far down. Talk? Jack, of all people, knew that the last thing Will wanted to do was talk. To a person. About his feelings. But he could see the pain and the worry in Jack’s eyes; the fresh flowers of an almost fatherly love that Will and all of his troubles had crushed. He could see that this was the way to replant the garden. And he wanted that for Jack. He couldn’t bear to hurt him any more than he already had.

  
“All right. But they can’t be an FBI counsellor. I want someone unattached.”

  
Jack grinned as if all of his hopes and dreams had just come true.

  
“I already have someone in mind.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy it :)

When Jack had said “psychiatrist’s office”, Will had been expecting a bleak, dreary little room; something sad, grey, and suffocating. He had not, however, been expecting a tall, colonial building, populated on the interior by European-esque, nouveau décor. The whole place reeked of a sophisticated aesthetic. 

  
Will was sitting in the waiting room, trying very hard to get his heart rate down. His body was covered in a thin film of sweat, and he was pressing his thumb into the palm of his right hand to ease the pain he always got there whenever he was nervous. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a man came out, bawling hysterically. His face was red, splotchy, and covered in snot, and his shirt was soaked in tears. If this was what therapy was supposed to be like, Will considered getting up and leaving immediately. 

  
But the thought of Jack’s reaction to hearing that he’d changed his mind compelled him to stay. 

  
Another man emerged after him, patting his back soothingly. Will continued to stare at the crying gentleman, not giving the other so much as a glance.

  
“Now, now, Edward, it’ll be all right. I’ll see you same time next week!” The man had a cool, pleasant voice, tinted with a slight foreign accent. The sound of it alone made Will’s heartbeat begin to slow.

  
Edward nodded dismissively and left, still sobbing. Then Will looked to the door and saw the man attached to the voice, and his heart rate immediately sped up again. He assumed this was the Doctor Lecter he’d been told about, though he looked more like a European fashion model than a psychiatrist. He wore a smart, voguish three-piece-suit, his sandy hair was gelled back, and his face was all sharp cheekbones and pink, cupid’s-bow lips. 

  
Apparently, he had been standing there (and staring) for a bit too long, because Dr. Lecter cleared his throat expectedly, shaking Will out of his trance. Will forced a smile, sticking out his shaky hand.

  
“You must be Dr. Lecter,” he said softly. The doctor took his hand in response, studying Will.

  
“That I am. And you must be Will.” Lecter looked down at Will’s hand and frowned. Will began to breathe even quicker, worried that he’d spotted something put-offish. What that could be, he had no idea, but he was well aware that panic rarely follows logic. 

  
“You’re breaking out in hives. Most likely anxiety, considering you’re on the verge of a panic attack at this very moment,” he murmured, leading Will into his office.

Hm. Perhaps his worry hadn't been entirely misplaced.

He rummaged around in his desk for a few moments before pulling out a small tube of cream with a quiet “ah”. Will couldn’t help but gape at the office. Two floors; on the first, Doctor Lecter’s desk and chairs for his patients; on the second, a gorgeous, expansive library. The walls were decorated with expensive-looking paintings that probably cost more than Will’s entire house. It had the sleek, refined feel that one would expect from a medical professional, but perforated by more vibrant hues of red or yellow. 

Will was shaken out of his stupor by the doctor gently grabbing his hand.

“Can you please roll up your sleeves? I need to see if it’s just your hands,” he said, trying to make eye contact with Will. He pulled back the sleeves of his wrinkled flannel for Dr. Lecter to see, and felt electricity shoot through his body when he gave Will a soft smile upon seeing that the hives only went as far as his wrists. 

  
The doctor’s hands were soft and chilly, warmed by Will’s heat as he gently rubbed the cream over his skin. When he was done, he walked back to his desk to put away the medicine and wiped his hands on a small towel. 

  
Beckoning Will to follow him, Dr. Lecter walked over to a black chair in the middle of the room and took a seat, crossing his legs. Will followed, heart still pounding in his chest, and took the chair opposite of him. 

  
“So, tell me how you’re feeling right now,” he said calmly, studying Will.

  
“Not great.”

  
“Yes, that seems to be the case. What is it that’s bothering you?”

  
Will took a deep breath, wondering how much to tell him.

  
“I don’t know. Things like this always stress me out. New situations.”

  
“Ah. That’s not uncommon. Just try to remember that I’m here to help you, Will. With time this will get easier.” He gave Will a thin smile. Will was expecting it to feel fake, but somehow… it seemed _genuine_. Will returned the gesture, his heart rate slowing as he began to feel more comfortable.

  
“Let’s see if we can get to the bottom of what happened last week. Jack told me about it.”

  
Oh, great. This. He had known that it would come up, and yet he still fought the urge to let out a groan. 

  
“You talked to Jack?” He asked.

  
“Yes. He and I have been friends for a while. As a matter of fact, you aren’t technically my patient-“

  
“You know, I’m getting a little tired of these ‘technically not’s. “Technically not an FBI agent”, “technically not your patient”…”

  
“-I’m simply doing a favor for a friend.” Hannibal frowned, clearly unhappy about being interrupted.

  
“Oh, so that’s what I am. A favor.” That feeling of comfort began to slip away.

  
“That was not what I was implying. My apologies if it seemed that way.” 

  
“Yeah,” he said, frowning. 

  
“May I ask how you think Jack feels about your mental health issues?”

  
“Well, he took me off the last case, so something makes me think he’s not exactly _thrilled_ about it.”

  
Will thought he saw the corner of Hannibal’s mouth turn up in amusement; but it was over in a flash, and Hannibal quickly went back to questioning him.

  
“So, last week?” The doctor prodded, earning a sigh from Will.

  
“I don’t know. It’s like every time I get into the mind of a killer, I lose a piece of myself. And I’m not sure how much more there is to lose, if I’m being honest.”

  
Doctor Lecter nodded. “That’s understandable. I will need to look further into this to establish whether continuing to consult for Jack is in your best interest. But to do that, I need you to be completely honest with me about something.”

  
A rush of panic flooded through Will. “Okay,” he said softly.

  
“How are you sleeping at night?”

  
“I don’t”, he said. “Well, sometimes I do. But whenever I fall asleep, I get these awful nightmares.” Will felt exposed. He’d never confided in someone like this before.

  
“Tell me about these nightmares.”

  
Will could sense the heavy weight of dread begin to lower itself onto his shoulders. This wasn’t something he was ready to tell anyone, not even Dr. Lecter. 

  
“Oh, usually just crime scenes, things like that,” he lied, trying to keep his cool. Doctor Lecter seemed to believe him- or at least he wanted to. 

  
“All right. That’s very helpful. Thank you for being honest with me.”

  
“You’re welcome, Doctor Lecter.” The doctor smiled kindly.

  
“Please, call me Hannibal. After all, you aren’t technically my patient, remember?”

  
A funny feeling arose in Will’s gut. It confused him; he’d never felt it before. He chalked it up to anxiety and returned Hannibal’s smile.

  
“Okay, Hannibal.”

  
…

  
Later that evening, Will was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The dogs were already fast asleep, cuddled up together on the other side of the room. He was thinking, thinking about everything. About Jack, about his nightmares, about Hannibal, about the strange feeling he got in his stomach when Hannibal looked at him. 

  
Maybe it’s a stomach ulcer, he thought, suddenly worried. He sat up as quickly as he could without waking the dogs, and tiptoed out to the kitchen. He slid onto a stool and flipped open his laptop. Wincing slightly at the bright screen, he typed the words, “funny feeling in my stomach when a certain person looks at me” into Google. Will’s eyes widened at the search results. 

  
“Why Falling in Love Gives You Butterflies,” one article read.

  
“Why You Get Butterflies in Your Stomach When You Like Someone,” said another.

  
He quickly shut his laptop, breathing heavily. Will made his way back to his room and tucked himself back into the covers, staring at the ceiling once again. 

  
He couldn’t be in love with Hannibal. There was simply no way. He wasn’t even into guys.

  
_I’m not in love with Hannibal_ , he reassured himself, right before drifting off into a deep, miserably dream-filled sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for posting this a day late, I got a bit caught up in some personal matters. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Non-graphic depictions of violence

It had been nearly four weeks since Will started his sessions with Hannibal, and still the butterflies in his stomach had not subsided. Week after week, Will would sit in his chair across from Hannibal and try with every fibre of his being to not combust from confusion and frustration. On top of that, he wasn’t quite sure this “therapy” was doing him any good; his nightmares and panic attacks were still persistent. Deep down, he knew nothing would improve if he didn’t open up about the root of these issues, but he couldn’t. If he did, everyone would see how broken he was, and they’d leave. He didn’t blame them. 

Will continued to consult for the FBI for the time being. He happened to be enjoying a particularly mediocre day, lounging around with his dogs, when Jack called. Will groaned. 

Nothing could ever go right for him, could it?

“Will Graham.”

“Hey, Will. You know the Baltimore Gharial?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about him on the news,” Will said, wondering where this was going.

“Okay, well, Baltimore P.D. called, and they want us on the case.”

Will’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. The public only knows about five of the murders.” He sighed. “There’s actually been seventeen.”

…

Will hadn’t expected the Baltimore P.D. precinct to be as utterly overwhelming as it turned out to be. People were rushing every which-way, the phones were overflowing with tips (most, if not all of which were useless, Will knew), and he could feel the pain and frustration of everyone in the room. It was too much. Jack, who was standing near him, noticed his heavy breathing and lead him off to a quiet conference room where the Baltimore detectives had already set things up for them. 

“Better?” Jack asked, a hand on Will’s shoulder. He nodded in response, giving Jack a small smile. 

A few hours later, they were spinning out theories and examining pieces of evidence when Will heard the door open. He turned, expecting it to be Beverly, or Price, or maybe Zeller, but was instead met with the face of none other than Hannibal Lecter. Will felt his stomach drop. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice small and weak. When he got no response, he turned to Jack. “What is he doing here?” Hannibal let out a short breath and walked over to the table, setting down his bag (which was color-coordinated to the rest of his outfit, to no surprise). “Lovely to see you, too, Will.” Will felt his face and neck flush red with a stroke of white-hot heat. 

“I asked Doctor Lecter to assist in drawing up a psychological profile. He is quite skilled when it comes to the human mind, you know,” Jack said, confused with Will’s behavior. “And from what I’ve heard, you two have been getting along swimmingly. Do you need to take this outside for a second?”

Will was about to tell Jack no, that it was fine, but Hannibal responded before he got the chance.

“We will be back in just a moment,” he said, grabbing his coat and putting a hand on Will’s back to lead him outside. Just the small touch sent tingles throughout Will’s entire body. Hannibal lead him out the back door and into the parking lot, taking his hand off of Will to slip on his coat. Despite the extremely discomforting feeling that Hannibal’s touch had given him just seconds before, Will missed it. 

_God, Will, stop it_ , he thought.

Hannibal crossed his arms and looked at Will, frowning.

“Have I done something, Will?”

“No, no, not at all. Sorry. I guess I was just surprised to see you, that’s all,” he lied.

Hannibal nodded. “Good, I’m glad. I sincerely doubt I could forgive myself if I hurt you.”

Will felt his tongue get caught in his throat, his cheeks, neck, and ears blushing pink again. Did Hannibal really feel like that? Could that mean…

_No, you idiot. He doesn’t feel that way towards you. Besides, you don’t like him anyways, remember?_

He looked up at Hannibal and smiled tightly, holding himself close as a cold gust of wind hit him. Baltimore was especially chilly this time of year, and Will had somehow neglected to bring a coat. He mentally scolded himself for forgetting and shivered, his teeth chattering. Hannibal looked at him worriedly and slid his coat off.

“Here,” he said, wrapping his long, thick coat around Will’s shoulders. 

“No, no, you’ll freeze. I can’t take this,” said Will, though he made no move to remove the jacket. Hannibal smoothed Will’s shoulders down, sending yet another wave of sparks through Will’s body, and smiled fondly. 

“It’s quite alright. I run warm anyways,” he said, chuckling at how large the coat looked on Will. Will was about to thank him, and maybe even try giving him a hug, but Jack interrupted, swinging the door open. 

“What’s wrong?” Hannibal asked, seeing the look in his eyes.

“They just found another body.”  
…

A man was laying in the middle of a hotel room with at least a hundred puncture wounds up and down his body. Every inch of the floor was covered in blood, though the greater portion of it had already been cleaned up by the CSIs. Will shuddered, closing his eyes and gripping Hannibal’s jacket tighter. The latter put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to comfort him, though it only made Will’s anxiety spike. 

“Collin Sheen. Thirty-six, married with two kids, works in a bakery in downtown Baltimore. He died from blood loss after he was stabbed one-hundred-and-ten times up and down his body,” Beverly said, walking towards them. 

Price piped up from across the room. “The wound pattern is nearly identical to that of the gavialis gangeticus, more commonly known as the gharial. They’re a critically endangered species of crocodile, and- and I just realized you already knew that.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment before turning back to the body. 

“It almost seems as if he wants to become this animal,” Hannibal said, looking at Will. Will shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“No. I think it’s more of an admiration. He’s… inspired by it.”

“Imitation is the greatest form of flattery,” Hannibal mused. 

Jack nodded at the two of them, heading inside the room. Hannibal followed, leaving Will and Beverly standing alone together just outside the doorway. Will’s coat caught Beverly’s eye, and she smirked.

“Nice coat,” she said, smiling. “It looks a bit fancy for your taste, though, doesn’t it?” Will looked at her, knowing what she was implying.

“It’s not like that. It was just a kind gesture.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“It was!”

“Will, I know I’m not a profiler, but I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him.” Will sighed, looking straight ahead. Beverly studied him. “I also see how badly you wish you didn’t look at him that way.”

Will’s features hardened, trying to hide any and all emotion. 

“Beverly, I understand your intentions are well-meaning, but you are _dangerously_ close to pure rudeness. I don’t appreciate what you’re saying,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. 

Beverly looked shocked, and a bit hurt.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Will. Just know that if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” She hesitantly patted his shoulder and walked inside, leaving Will alone. And he couldn’t help but notice the drastic lack of sparks that flooded through his body when Beverly touched him, someone he thought he saw the same way as Hannibal.

“Fuck,” he whispered, before internalizing his emotions and stepping inside.

…

Back at the precinct, the team was getting ready to pack up for the night. Will grabbed his things and began to head out the door, but he stopped in his tracks when he realized that he had yet to return Hannibal’s jacket. He jogged out to the parking lot, looking for Hannibal’s car (despite the fact that he hadn’t the faintest idea what it looked like). Hannibal had only left the building seconds before himself, so he couldn’t have gotten far.

“Hannibal?” He called, hoping for a response. “Hannibal!”

Suddenly, Hannibal came running around the corner of the building, a terrified look on his face. 

“Will, are you all right?” He said, breathing heavily. His eyes scanned Will for any cuts, bruises, or other injuries. Will swallowed hard, feeling awful for making Hannibal worry.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay,” he said, earning a sigh of relief from Hannibal. “I just wanted to return your coat.” Hannibal smiled, resting a hand on Will’s shoulder. Will felt his nerves explode beneath the touch, his skin on fire. His hand was closer to Will’s neck than it had ever been before, and it scared him. 

“Keep it. I’m sure you will need it again in the future. Besides,” he said, looking at Will with pure fondness and admiration in his eyes. “it looks good on you.” 

Will nearly passed out on the spot. He smiled and looked away, a rosy flush creeping up his face. 

“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal said through a smile, turning and walking away. Will was left standing in the middle of the parking lot, red as a tomato and extremely close to giggling like a little girl. 

For the last time, Will, you aren’t into him. You aren’t. You’re straight, you like women, and even if either of you did like men, you would be the last person he’d fall for, he thought, his smile fading. Will sighed and trudged over to his rental car, the ecstasy he’d felt moments before now gone. 

Hannibal wasn’t here anymore, and Will fell right back into his dreary existence.

…

That night, in a scrappy little motel room in the middle of Baltimore, Will Graham lay awake, snuggled in Hannibal Lecter’s coat. It was big enough on him that he could wrap it completely around himself and still have enough room to bury his face in the soft material. He breathed deeply, taking in Hannibal’s warm, comforting scent. He smelled of cedarwood, nutmeg, and scented shampoo, a combination that nearly put Will to sleep with every breath he took. 

Will was aware he’d likely wake up in the middle of the night, sweating from one of his nightmares, and ruin the scent of the jacket, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was here and now. And here and now, he felt sheltered and calm. 

He knew that this wasn’t exactly something one would do with a friend’s jacket, but he couldn’t help himself. Anything that reminded him of Hannibal reminded him that he was safe. It was as if a piece of Hannibal was there with him, soothing and caring for him. 

Will sighed, smiling as he nestled his head deeper into the coat; slowly drifting off into what he knew wouldn’t be a peaceful sleep. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Panic attack

“Here, I brought it back,” Will said, sticking his arms out.

Will was standing in Hannibal Lecter’s office, attempting to return his coat. Hannibal was frowning at him, arms crossed over his chest and a look in his eyes that made Will feel awful.

“Was I unclear when I said you could keep it, Will?”

Will sighed. Arguing with Hannibal wasn’t easy, by any stretch of the imagination. “I know, I know, but I felt bad. I really can’t keep this.”

After another few moments of silence, Hannibal gave in and took the overcoat, looking hurt. He turned his back to Will and began to walk to his desk.

“Besides, it doesn’t smell like you anymore,” Will mumbled, immediately regretting it when saw Hannibal nearly trip over himself.

For a moment, Will legitimately considered becoming a Christian because, thank fucking _God,_ Hannibal didn’t mention it.

Will plopped down in his usual chair, eyes fixed on the floor as Hannibal crossed over to join him. They sat in silence, neither one wanting to be the first to initiate conversation. Finally, Hannibal broke.

“Are you familiar with the term “parapraxis”, Will?” He said.

And just like that, Will was agnostic again.

Hannibal was staring at him as if he was trying to bore holes into his skull, and Will thought it might have been working.

“Freudian slip,” Will said, still extremely interested in the ground. “An inadvertent slip of the tongue that reveals one’s true feelings.” Hannibal nodded.

“Very good. You see, Will, Freudian slips often reveal things that we are afraid to admit. It is almost as if our brain is searching for validation or expression of a feeling when we ourselves won’t allow it.”

This made Will extremely uncomfortable. He knew exactly what Hannibal was implying, and he was _not_ happy about it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied, looking up at Hannibal so as not to seem suspicious.

Hannibal simply sighed, looking a bit sad.

“All right. I think we can end our session early today, if it is agreeable with you.” Hannibal put his hands on the arms of his chair, ready to stand up.

“That sounds fine,” he replied, wincing at how eager he sounded. As he walked out, he could feel Hannibal’s eyes following him, almost as if he was sad to see him go (despite the fact that he was the one who had suggested Will leave in the first place).

Will sat in his car, letting the ignition run. He was fighting against the harsh waves of his emotions, trying to steal breaths against the crashes that pulled him farther out to sea. He wanted so badly to give in; to stop fighting and allow the current to gently pull him under. Perhaps then he’d finally be at peace. Will knew he was a fool for thinking there was a chance he’d be able to make it back to shore.

And yet he wished with all of his heart that he could.

Hot tears began to roll down Will’s cheeks, and he rested his head on the top of the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned ghostly white. A choked sob escaped his mouth, snot running down the lower portion of his face.

Will was scared. He was scared of himself, of these feelings, of what he knew they meant.

In a moment of desperation, he picked up his phone and called Beverly.

Every buzz made Will more and more anxious, terrified that she wouldn’t answer, and terrified that she would. Suddenly, the buzzing stopped, and he heard Beverly speak. “What’s up, Will?” Her kind voice was music to his ears, and he let out another sob.

“Woah, woah, what’s wrong?” She asked, her voice taking on a concerned tone. Will didn’t answer, only continued to cry, holding his head in one hand and clutching the phone with the other. “Will?”

“Hi,” he managed to choke out.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Will knew he couldn’t do this over the phone. He needed to see her face. He needed her to be there to comfort him. He needed _her_.

“Listen, where are you?” Beverly asked, as if she’d read his mind. He sniffled, holding back another sob.

“In the parking lot outside Hannibal’s office,” he said. His voice was almost a whisper.

“Oh god, did he do something to you?”

“What?” Will said, defensive of Hannibal. “No, no. Of course not.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Beverly sounded relieved. “Do you want to go back inside and see him? He probably knows what to do, and I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help.”

Will violently shook his head, and though Beverly couldn’t hear him, she could tell his silence was a clear no.

“Look, are you all right to drive?”

“I think so,” he said, thinking back to all the times he’d driven whilst in the middle of a panic attack.

“Okay. I want you to drive home, and I’ll meet you there.” She paused, listening to Will’s quiet, choked breaths. “It’s going to be all right, Will.” He whispered a thank you into the phone and hung up, not truly believing her.

This, what was wrong with him, what he’d been through; It was never going to get better, and he knew that. He was too broken.

…

Will pulled up to his house in his broken-down Volvo, sobbing and shaking so badly that he was shocked he didn’t hit something. He stumbled out, his legs and arms weak. It felt like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton; his senses were dialed down and he could barely focus on anything.

Beverly was already sitting on his porch, looking terrified. When she saw Will, her face fell even more, and she rushed towards him, steadying him and helping him inside. The dogs crowded them, excited for Will to be home, but Will just pushed past them, too preoccupied to give them the attention that he usually would.

Beverly walked him over to the couch, sitting beside him. She gently wrapped one arm around him, bringing the other around his head to stroke his hair, and Will leaned into the touch, thankful to have her here. The warm comfort of Beverly paired with the soft shushes she was whispering into his ear was making him feel safer already.

Eventually, Will’s crying turned into shaky breaths and soft sniffles. He pulled away from where he’d been leaning on Beverly, looking up at her. Her face was lined with concern. She kept one hand on his arm, rubbing soft circles to keep him calm.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened?” She asked, cautious. Will wiped the remaining moisture off of his red, puffy face and sighed, nodding.

“You remember when Hannibal gave me his jacket?” He began. His voice was rough and quiet. Beverly nodded.

“He told me to keep it. So I did. But I couldn’t keep it for long, Bev, I just couldn’t—so I brought it back to him today. He looked so… _sad_. And then-“ Will’s breath caught in his throat. He had to do this. He had to tell her. He couldn’t keep pushing it down inside; it’d never work, and he knew it. It was time to succumb to the pull of the waves.

Beverly noticed his nervous pause and moved her other hand to rest on top of his, comforting him. A small gesture to let him know that it was okay, that he was safe. His big, teary eyes moved up to her face (albeit not far enough up to make eye contact, Will knew he couldn’t handle that).

“That night, when he told me to keep his jacket, I slept with it on. It smelled just like him, Bev. Just like him. Soft, and warm, and _perfect_. And when I gave the coat back, do you know what I said when he walked away? I told him I returned it 'cause it didn’t smell like him anymore. I didn’t even mean to, it just slipped out. I didn’t even know I was thinking it. Bev, when he looks at me, I get this weird feeling in my stomach. And my face and neck flush hot, and my hands turn clammy, and my knees go weak. I don’t know, Bevvy. I don’t know what to do,” he said, tears rolling down his cheeks again.

There. He had said it.

She looked at him and smiled softly, rubbing his hands to calm him down.

“Hey, Will, it’s okay. Look at me.” Will complied, taking a small gasp for air.

“I’m so happy you’re finally coming to terms with your own feelings,” she said. “I _love_ you, Will. You’re my best friend. And I’d do anything in the world for you.”

Will couldn’t help but grin, thinking about how lucky he was to have Beverly. They sat in silence for a few moments, taking everything in. Finally, Will spoke.

“Does this mean I’m gay, Bev?” He asked, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide.

Beverly shrugged.

“I don’t know. It might. It might not,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "It just means you're not straight."

“I think I really like him,” Will said softly, leaning closer into her. Beverly chuckled.

“I think so too.”

Will sighed, tired from crying for so long. He rested his head on her shoulder, closing his swollen eyes and breathing little whistle-y breaths through his mouth.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing Will knew he was laying on the couch with a blanket draped over him, and it was dark outside. From the looks of it, Beverly was gone, and this was confirmed when Will picked up his phone and saw a message from her.

_Hey, Will, as you probably know if you’re reading this, you fell asleep. I stayed for a while, but eventually I had to get going. Don’t feel bad, it seemed like you really needed it. I’m proud of you, by the way. You’re the bravest, strongest person I know. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Love ya! <3_

Will smiled, rubbing his eyes and trudging over to his bedroom. He collapsed into his bed, still tired despite the fact that he’d just slept for hours. He felt that a small weight had been lifted off of his chest. There was still weight there, mind you, but now it was lighter than it had been before. Acknowledging his feelings for Hannibal really had done wonders for him.

He realized something: that had been the first time in a long while that he’d been able to sleep without being woken by nightmares. Will smiled. He knew there were a million more questions he had yet to find the answer to, but he pushed them aside for now; hopeful he’d fall into the same blissfully dreamless sleep that he had earlier.

He didn’t.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> Mildly-graphic discussion of violence
> 
> NOTE: I’m putting a nice little park right next to Quantico Academy solely because it’s convenient for me. Is there one in actuality? Definitely not. I checked. The Academy is in a secluded area along with some other federal buildings. So please just pretend that it’s logical that there would be a park right next to Quantico, because I’m lazy and have no idea how to work around that to get where I want :)

It was a long, dreary Tuesday, and Will was back to teaching at Quantico. At least until Jack needed him, that was. He was getting a bit tired of constantly having to be at Jack’s beck and call, dropping everything to do something he hated; but it wasn’t as if he could just say no. Jack was his supervisor, if he refused to follow orders, then he’d soon be out of a job. 

Will was near the end of a particularly gruesome lecture when Hannibal showed up.

“…they confessed that they planned to dismember their family’s bodies, place them in storage bins, and hide them in the attic of their home. They also planned to steal the family car, shoot and kill five random people in different locations, and eventually reach a body count of 500 people or more.” Will stopped pacing as he heard the lecture hall doors close, echoing through the room. The students collectively looked up from their laptops, craning their necks to see who it was. Will nearly passed out on the spot when he saw Hannibal standing by the door, two very expensive-looking coffee mugs in hand. 

“I- um, I- I want you all to look further into the details of the Broken Arrow killings. What would you have done differently to ensure you didn’t get caught? Tell me your design. Class is dismissed,” Will said, with much difficulty. While his students began to filter out of the lecture hall, Will turned to face his desk, panicking while Hannibal couldn’t see his face. He ran a hand through his messy hair, adjusted his glasses, and checked his breath before finally turning around, mustering up as much courage and confidence as possible. 

“What are you doing here?” Will asked, sounding more eager to see him than he had intended. He walked towards Hannibal, glancing around to make sure all of the students were gone. They were.

Hannibal shrugged, smiling. “I figured that caffeine might be a bit of a necessity, given the fact that you have been giving lectures on gruesome murders since six a.m. this morning,” he said, handing Will one of the far-too-fancy mugs. “I brewed this myself. I do hope you like espresso.” 

Will took a sip of the drink, slow and cautious so as not to burn himself. When it finally reached his mouth, sweet mother of Christ- it was everything he never knew he wanted and more. The coffee was warm and creamy, and so, so different from the sad, break-room coffee he was used to. It indulged him in beatific bliss, and for a sliver of a moment all of his troubles went away.

“Holy shit,” Will whispered, staring in awe at his mug. Hannibal laughed, seeming downright gleeful at Will’s reaction. “What kind of magic coffee is this?”

“It’s called Café Viennois,” Hannibal said with a chuckle, and gave Will a warm look. “It is a recipe from Vienna, Austria. Though it is also very popular in Budapest.” 

Will took another sip, nearly melting at the taste.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Hannibal offered, gesturing towards the door. Will nodded, flushing pink, and looked down shyly.

“Let me grab my hat and coat,” Will said, rushing over to his desk. December in Virginia wasn’t exactly warm, and he was determined not to have a repeat of the Baltimore incident. He slipped his black wool jacket over his shoulders and pulled on his matching ski hat. 

“Ready to go,” Will said. He was trying very hard to hide the fact that his entire body was shaking from anxiety. The two of them walked out the door, Hannibal asking him questions about his day. 

It felt terrifying, and yet so… _right_. 

As they walked down the hallway, Beverly burst out of the forensics lab, nearly running right into Hannibal and Will.

“Oh, sorry!” She said. And, upon realizing who she almost collided with, “Hey, Will!” She grinned at him, looking back and forth between the two and wiggling her eyebrows at just the right angle so that Hannibal didn’t see it. He gave her a look that said, “Not now, Beverly, or I swear to god I will make sure you regret it”. At this she simply smiled at the two of them and gave Hannibal a kind, “Doctor Lecter” (to which he nodded politely), and ran off, looking back at them occasionally to slip Will a mischievous grin. 

…

Will and Hannibal walked side-by side through the nearby park, looking around at the snow-tipped trees and frosted flowers. For all its faults, winter weather could, on occasion, be quite beautiful. Hannibal stopped when they reached a bench that wasn’t covered in snow, and motioned for Will to sit. He complied. Hannibal followed, looking over at Will fondly. 

“Thank you,” Will said, after a few moments of silence. “Not just for the coffee. Though I’m very grateful for that as well.” He gave Hannibal a genuine smile. 

“What else for, then?” Hannibal asked. Will shrugged, picking at the crochet mug sweater hugging his cup. 

“Everything. You’ve been so nice to me. And I’ve been… well, not.” 

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Will. I can see you are going through a lot, and I do not blame you for the consequences of that.” 

“I don’t get a rudeness pass just because I’m _traumatized_ , Doctor Lecter.”

“You have hardly been rude. And I am simply stating that certain things are more than excusable for someone like you, Will. As I said before, you’ve been through a lot.”

 _Oh, you don’t know the half of it_ , Will thought to himself. And he never would, if Will had any say in it. There were some things about him that were just too disturbing to share. If he did, Hannibal would surely go running. Will knew he would. It was simply too difficult and demanding to deal with the problems of someone as broken as he was. Will remained silent, staring at the ground. 

Hannibal put a hand on Will’s forearm, sending shockwaves throughout his entire body. He could feel Hannibal’s warm touch through the thick layers of fabric separating them as well as he would if his arm were bare. Will shivered, secretly hoping Hannibal would never move away.

“I care about you, Will,” Hannibal said, looking at him with a strange light in his eyes. Will couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but it both unsettled and comforted him. 

“Thanks,” Will managed to choke out, panicking inside his head. _He’s touching me! He’s touching me!_ “I care about you, too.” This made Hannibal smile. Yet still, he kept his hand on Will’s arm.

“I was wondering,” Hannibal started. “If you would like to accompany me to a charity fundraising event on Christmas eve? It sounds terribly dull and inconvenient, I know, but I need a plus-one, and you are the only person I know who could make it even relatively bearable.”

Will nearly died right then and there.

Hannibal was asking him to come with him to a charity event. As his date. 

_I must be a lot luckier than I give myself credit for,_ Will thought to himself.

“Wouldn’t that be a bit unprofessional?” Will asked softly, trying to hide his flushed neck and cheeks. “Bringing your patient to a fundraiser as your plus-one?” Hannibal shook his head.

“Will, how many times do I have to tell you? You aren’t my patient. We are simply friends having talks. Talks that will hopefully benefit you greatly.”

“Friends?”

“Well, I thought- my apologies for assuming…” Will smiled. This was the first time he’d seen Hannibal get flustered. It was quite endearing, if he was being honest.

“No, no, don’t worry. I would love to be your friend,” Will said, earning a small smile from Hannibal. And was he… blushing? My God. Hannibal Lecter was _blushing_. Will chuckled. “And yes, I’ll go to the fundraiser with you.”

The two sat in silence, sipping their coffee and admiring the frost-tipped world around them (and, more than either of them would have liked to admit, each other). Will’s stomach was swarming with a nauseating mix of emotions. While he wanted more than anything for this to lead to something “more-than-friends”, he also… didn’t. Because he knew that no matter what happened, he would never be deserving of anyone’s affection. 

Let alone Hannibal’s.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> Mental breakdown

_I’m doing this for Hannibal. I’m doing this for Hannibal. I’m doing this for Hannibal,_ he thought to himself.

“Party” settings had always been particularly foreign and uncomfortable to Will, and the Christmas Fundraiser was no exception. He was sitting at a table near the entrance, as far away from the action as possible.

Will sighed and checked his watch, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Seven-twenty-six. Lovely. Only two hours and thirty-four minutes to go. 

Unlike Will, Hannibal was mingling, chatting with people in attire that made Will feel entirely inferior. Currently, he was talking to a man in a white suit jacket ( _ew_ , Will thought), an expression on his face that came off as interest to most, but seemed to be total apathy from Will’s perspective.

Hannibal made eye contact with Will, catching his staring in the act. He politely excused himself and made his way over to the table. 

“You look positively miserable,” Hannibal said lowly. He took the seat next to Will, adjusting his chair to face him more directly. “Though in all honesty, I cannot say I blame you.”

Will scoffed, making a face in mock offence. “What do you mean? I’m having _lots_ of fun.”

“Well, in that case, you may want to tell your face.” Hannibal smiled.

Will looked down, and grinned. Each day he seemed to be getting worse and worse at hiding his affections for Hannibal. 

If Hannibal noticed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he gave Will a friendly pat on the back (his hand only lingering there for a second too long) and strode off, nodding in acknowledgement to people he knew as he walked. 

Will let his head rest in his hand, still fueled with the tingling adrenaline from Hannibal’s touch. 

That man was either going to be his salvation or his downfall.

Either way, he was lost in him.

…

Hannibal glanced over at Will, who was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, head resting on the window (though it was clear he was wide awake). Hannibal smiled, basking in the sheer cuteness of Will. 

“Will?”

“Hmm?” Will didn’t move from his position, nor did he look up at Hannibal.

“I was wondering if you would like to come back to my house for a drink. I have something to give to you. A bit of a preemptive Christmas gift, per se.”

Will felt electricity shoot through his body at the prospect of being in Hannibal’s home. _Is this something I want?_ He asked himself. He already knew the answer. The question was: _was it a good idea?_

Definitely not. 

Hannibal was ferociously straight, Will knew that. It was the plainest thing in the world. He knew that Hannibal’s gestures and words were born purely out of friendliness; and the idea that they could ever be something “more” was entirely preposterous. 

So was the idea that anyone could ever love him.

Will was a twitchy, anxious, shy little man. He had been severely traumatized from a young age, lived in a constant state of panic, and was on the verge of breaking down at any moment. He actively avoided social settings, was unintentionally rude (even to the people he cared most about), and was too terrified of losing what was left of himself to use his talents for good. In short, he wasn’t someone who could be loved, and he knew that. Will was a realist; he didn’t expect it to happen. Ever.

“I’m actually feeling a bit tired,” he said, knowing that while this might hurt Hannibal in the short run, it was in his best interest. “Maybe some other time?”

Though he wasn’t looking at Hannibal, he could feel his enthusiasm deflate. 

“Yes, of course.” His voice was small. “Some other time.” 

Neither one spoke a word for the rest of the car ride. When they reached Will’s house, Hannibal insisted on walking him to the door (why, he had no clue, it wasn’t that far from where Hannibal was parked to the front porch). 

The two lingered at the doorstep for a few moments, the sounds of the dogs barking making Hannibal smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were such an animal lover,” Hannibal said, raising his eyebrows upon seeing the amount of dogs Will had. He glanced over at the window Hannibal was staring at, chuckling at the tiny noses bumping against the glass. 

“Yeah, well, I suppose there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Hannibal went quiet, his dark eyes filled with sadness. 

“Well, I hope one day I will have learned them all,” he said, giving Will a small smile. 

They stood in silence for a few moments, Will fiddling awkwardly with his keys. 

“I’ll see you next week?” Will said, less of a question than a way to end their conversation. Hannibal nodded.

“As they say, same time, same place.” 

After a few awkward smiles and goodbye waves, Will went inside (and shooed the dogs away), closing the door behind him and immediately breaking down. He held his face in one hand, sinking back against the wall. A choked sob escaped his mouth as hot tears streamed down his face in miniature rivers. 

_Why is it that the one thing I want is something I know I can’t have?_ He thought, trying to draw air into his lungs. The tears were coming too fast, too thick, streaming down his face and dripping off his chin; wetting his shirt as he shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. He folded himself forward, drawing his legs up to his chin and hiding his face in his knees. The more desperately he tried to pull air into his lungs, the less it came. 

All of this was exhausting. Hannibal, profiling, himself… He felt like a rope being drawn so tight that the little threads were tearing, one by one. 

And as Will sat, sobbing and choking on the floor, one thing became extremely clear to him.

Even if Hannibal were gay, he wouldn’t love Will. Will, who was always one word away from a nervous breakdown. Will, who was so broken that he could never fulfill Hannibal’s needs. Will, who was self-deprecating and traumatized and would never tell anyone exactly why. 

He knew he would never experience reciprocation.

There was just no way.

 _Merry Christmas to me_ , he thought.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Mild sexual battery (NOT BETWEEN HANNIBAL AND WILL)  
> Panic Attack

“Hi, Hannibal.”

“Ah, hello, Will.”

Will had been lazily flipping through the TV channels when someone called him. He was about to let his phone ring out when he caught a glimpse of the caller ID, and nearly shattered his phone trying to answer it. 

“What are you up to?” Hannibal asked. Will glanced over at his television, where a woman wearing a pantsuit in an atrocious shade of pink was demonstrating the different uses of mirrors in home decorating. 

“Oh, nothing special.”

“Good, good. I was wondering if you would like to join me for lunch? It would be very casual, not to worry. I know how you feel about large crowds and formal settings.”

Will smiled to himself. He was glad Hannibal cared enough to pick up on those sort of things. 

_It’s just one lunch_ , he thought. _It can’t hurt_.

“What time?” 

“Does 12:30 work for you?” He sounded audibly peppier.

“It does. Should I meet you there?”

“I can pick you up, if you would like.”

Will hesitated. He wasn’t sure how well it would go over with his repressed feelings, but he didn’t want to ruin Hannibal’s excitement. _Screw it_ , he thought. _I don’t care. I want to do this._

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“Perfect!” Will could practically hear his smile through the phone.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and after a few more goodbyes, he hung up, tossed his phone across the carpet, and flopped down on the couch, draping himself across it. 

He was a mess of emotions; he couldn’t decide whether to be happy, sad, terrified, or angry (with himself).

…

Will and Hannibal were seated outside of a quaint café, something that Will definitely hadn’t expected. He wasn’t complaining, however, as the food was delicious.

“Of all the things on the menu, you went with the fettuccini alfredo?”

Will looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’ve always been a bit of a picky eater,” he said, taking another bite. Hannibal smiled fondly and shook his head. 

“Ah! I almost forgot. I brought along your present,” Hannibal said, pulling a small parchment-wrapped gift with a gold ribbon tied around it. Will smiled.

“Really, Hannibal, you didn’t have to,” he said.

“I wanted to. Here, open it.” He handed the present to Will, who took it, despite feeling guilty that he didn’t get him anything. He slowly unwrapped the paper, leaving it intact (a small detail that made Hannibal feel warm and fuzzy inside). His jaw dropped when he saw what Hannibal had gotten him.

“I’m told it is called a “rig keeper”. I’m not entirely sure,” Hannibal pointed out. Will didn’t react, still gaping at the gift.

“I’ve wanted one of these for so long,” Will finally said. His voice was soft and full of wonder.

“Yes, well, I remembered your interest in fly fishing, so…” he trailed off, grinning. 

“Thank you so much, Hannibal. I love it, I really do.”

“Of course.”

Will stood up out of his chair, brushing any crumbs off of his lap. 

“I’m just going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said, receiving a kind nod from Hannibal. He weaved his way through the restaurant, nearly getting plowed into by a waiter carrying trays of food. He stumbled back a bit, eyes wide. 

Will was so focused on his near-disaster that he didn’t notice when a man walked up behind him. He was tall (much taller than Will), muscular, and all-around huge; and he was looking at Will in an alarmingly predatory manner.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Will felt a hand grab his ass. He turned, backing away from the perpetrator and raising up his hands in an attempt to swat his arm away. 

“What the hell?” Will said, his voice high and shaky. The man smirked at him, saying, “C’mon, baby, I’m just havin’ a little fun! Besides, your ass in those pants… you were pretty much _asking_ for it.” 

Will was breathing heavily, tears pricking his eyes. It seemed as if he and the man were the only two people in the room. No one was coming to save him. 

_Fuck. No, no, no, no. I can’t do this. I can’t-_ Will thought. He was hyperventilating at this point, tears were rolling down his face, and he was holding himself as tight as possible. The other man was looking at him, a freaked-out expression on his face. By this point, people were taking notice of the man having a panic attack in the middle of the café. Most of it was hushed whispers, but a few people were calling for help. 

Will felt terrified, he felt disgusting, and he felt alone. 

He felt the walls closing in. 

_No. No. Please, no._

Closing, closing, closing…

_I can’t fucking do this._

Alone.

_Please, someone help me!_

Suddenly, as if by miracle, he felt someone’s hands grip his shoulders. At first, he tried to fight back, to get away, but then the person spoke.

“Will. Will? Listen to my voice. Focus on me.”

Hannibal.

Will complied, still struggling to breathe through choked sobs. 

“I’m going to take you to a calmer place. Is that okay?”

Will nodded his head yes, and Hannibal wrapped an arm around him, gripping one of Will’s arms with his other hand. He slowly lead him to a room at the back of the café (walking at his pace so as not to rush him or make things worse). All the while, he whispered soft encouragements into Will’s ear. 

Will was placed on a soft sofa, still panicking. Hannibal sat down next to him and rested Will’s head on his chest, stroking his hair. Normally, Will would have freaked out from this level of physical contact, but at the moment he was too… _preoccupied_ to care.

“Can you hear my heartbeat, Will?” Hannibal asked. Will could feel his voice vibrate through his body. He nodded, rubbing his head against Hannibal’s suit jacket. 

“Good. You’re doing wonderful. Just focus on my heartbeat. Nothing else.” He stroked Will’s curls gently, listening as Will’s breathing began to slow, as his sobs turned into sniffles. Eventually, Will pulled back, his face still blotchy and swollen.

“Hi,” Will said softly, looking at Hannibal. They were still very close, but given what Will had just been through, he couldn’t bring himself to think about it, let alone care.

“Hello.” Hannibal smiled, causing Will to do the same. 

“Ah, shit, I got snot and tears all over your nice suit,” Will said, wincing. Hannibal inspected his jacket and shirt carefully, and shrugged his shoulders.

“I never liked it much anyways.”

There was a reason Will was in love with him. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Hannibal asked after a moment. Will aggressively shook his head no.

“That’s alright. I’m here, Will. It’s going to be okay.”

Later on, Will would find out that Hannibal had the man who initiated the entire event arrested, charged with sexual harassment, and then sued for emotional distress.

He wasn’t exactly upset about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are going to hate me for this one (and rightfully so, to be honest). I ALSO feel bad for putting Will through so much, but it's pretty vital to the storyline. I'm sorry!!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, it's been quite hectic lately. But this one's pretty long, so enjoy!!

Will squinted in frustration as he fished for his car keys in his pockets. When his hand finally rested around the cold lump of metal, he sighed, relieved, and closed his eyes.

He was exhausted, both physically and psychologically. The most recent case had required the team to make the trip down to Florida, and though Will had always had a soft spot for the place, his connotations of Disney World and sunshine were beginning to be replaced by murder and mental agony.

The case in question was nothing special; just your average, run-of-the-mill “straight, white male in his thirties/forties who preys on young twenty-somethings who all look alike because he can’t get to the real object of his homicidal tendencies”.

So, yeah, nothing new.

But he was drained nonetheless. Will was about to get into his car when he heard an all-too-familiar voice call his name.

“Will!”

He turned to find Hannibal jogging towards him, lips pressed into a thin smile and face flushed red from the heat. He slowed, pulling a (monogrammed, Will could see. Of fucking course) handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing at his forehead and neck.

_As if it would actually do anything,_ Will thought, and the corners of his lips turned up at how endearing Hannibal’s little idiosyncrasies were.

Hannibal cleared his throat.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Will asked, heat rising in his neck.

“What is the name of your hotel? I was hoping we might be staying at the same one.”

“Oh,” Will said, chuckling quietly. “Believe me, we definitely aren’t. I’m just holing up in some roadside motel.”

Will saw Hannibal’s face fall, and his immediate reaction was to worry about what he could have done wrong.

_What if he thinks badly of you because of your financial situation? What if he hates you for it?_

“I’ll arrange for you to stay where I am,” Hannibal said with a burst of enthusiasm.

No. _Fuck_ no. Will wasn’t going to let Hannibal pity him like that.

“Thank you, Hannibal, but I can’t allow that,” he said, wincing when Hannibal returned to his crestfallen state.

“I guarantee you, Will. This has nothing to do with pity. I simply care for you very much and would prefer to have you near me, knowing that you are getting the quality treatment that you deserve,” Hannibal said softly, and Will thought he must have been _psychic_. He always seemed to know just what to say, be it to convince you of something, to cheer you up, to make you cry… it scared him a little, to be honest. But he knew Hannibal was nothing but well-intentioned, and he couldn’t stand making him sad (when it wasn’t for Hannibal’s own benefit, of course. There were some occasions on which it simply had to be done).

“Oh, all right.”

Hannibal grinned, square, bleach-white teeth and all.

“But I’m paying you back when we get home.” Hannibal raised his hands in the air as if to surrender.

“Well, in that case, I have a phone call to make.”

…

_Holy fuck._

Will stepped into the hotel lobby ( _resort would be the more accurate word_ , he thought), white, glassy marble, gold trim, and ceramic statues of cherubs surrounding him. He looked up and gasped: a glistening, diamond-studded chandelier that was so bright, large, and _jewel-adorned_ that Will thought it could have been the eighth wonder of the world.

Hannibal, however, was far less awestruck. He grumbled under his breath as they approached the front desk, mumbling something about “atrocious customer service”, and gave the woman a tight, clearly forced smile.

“Name?” She asked, not looking up from the computer screen.

“Lecter.”

“Alrighty. Rooms 502 and 540.”

Will hadn’t heard a single piece of the conversation, still gaping at the chandelier, but he quickly snapped out of his daze when Hannibal nudged him gently, handing him a card.

“Here’s your key. Room 540,” he said, adjusting the leather bag on his shoulder.

Will nodded and started to walk towards the elevators, relieved when Hannibal followed.

“I really can’t thank you enough for this, Hannibal. This hotel’s really, really nice.”

Hannibal shrugged. “Anything for you, my dear William. And as for the hotel, it’s no Four Seasons, but it’ll do.” He said the last part quieter, more to himself than to Will.

Will blushed, looking away, and pulled at his lip nervously. Hannibal really did test his self-control.

He and Hannibal parted ways with a few awkward half-waves and smiles, and Will locked himself in his hotel room as quickly as possible, determined to find a way to relieve the stress that was weighing on him like a pound of bricks strapped to his back.

That ended up being alcohol.

Will hoisted himself onto one of the barstools, resting an arm on the sticky countertop. He looked out on the pool, much nicer than anything he’d ever seen in person and nearly abandoned save for a few stray souls, and wiped his brow, the hot, sticky air already getting to him. Of course the hotel bar had to be poolside.

Welcome to fucking Florida.

He gave the bartender a weary smile and ordered some tropical drink, having absolutely no idea what it was. At least “Beachy Breeze” sounded better than “Coconut Cool”.

_They have got to fire whoever comes up with these God-awful names_ , he thought. Will grimaced and looked back out at the pool, where a muscular man in (very tight) swim shorts caught his attention. He raised his eyebrows as he cut through the water with a graceful ease, swimming laps through the pool.

“You’ve got to be a psychopath to come to this pool and think, “Oh, you know what I want to do? Laps!”.” Will mumbled to himself, nodding to the bartender in recognition as his drink was set down.

He took a sip as he kept his eyes trained on the mystery man, corners of his lips turning up when the drink actually tasted good.

Will nearly choked on it, however, when the man pulled himself out of the pool and wiped himself down with a fluffy-looking towel, allowing Will to see his face.

Hannibal.

Clearly he had been staring too long, as Hannibal caught his eye and smiled at him, waving. Will’s face went bright red and he quickly turned himself to face the other direction, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

Hannibal walked towards him, tying the towel around his waist. Will tried with every fiber of his being to will him away, but his efforts proved futile as Hannibal leaned against the counter next to him, his cheeks and lips worn and rosy and his abs very, _very_ obvious.

“Will,” he said with a smile.

“Hannibal. What’re you doing swimming at this time at night?”

He shrugged. “The same as you, I presume. Attempting to relieve stress.” He gave Will’s drink a wary glance. “Though as your therapist, I must advise against turning to cheap alcohol to ease your anxiety.”

Will shook his head, trying to tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s muscles. “Just taking the edge off. I’m not an alcoholic, Doctor.”

“That sounds to me very much something an alcoholic would say,” he said, smiling.

Will snickered. Hannibal’s attempts at “normal” humor were, to say the least, _adorable_. It was silent for a few moments, save for the soft tinkle of tropical music in the background and the chatter of a few stray guests.

“Well,” Hannibal said, breaking the ice. “I believe I’m going to retire for the night.”

_Retire?_ Will thought. _Jesus, he talks like it’s the 1800s._ Will couldn’t truthfully say he didn’t love it, though. He gave Hannibal a nod.

“I will see you tomorrow, Will.” He grinned and winked at Will before promptly walking away, leaving Will stunned and frozen in place.

Hannibal had just winked at him.

He had just fucking _winked_ at him.

His heart was on the verge of beating out of his chest, and his skin had turned so red, it looked like he was suffocating. Will certainly _felt_ like he was.

He nearly fell off of the barstool, and struggled immensely as he reached inside his pocket and placed a crumpled ten on the counter. He walked inside as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself, pulling out his phone with hands shaking so badly they made him look like he really was an alcoholic. Will opened it and dialed the same person he always did; the one who was there for him, no matter what, who always knew just the right thing to say, and who understood him better than he understood himself.

Beverly.

“Hey, Will, what’s up?”

“Bev, I don’t know what to do.”

“What? What happened?” She said, concerned.

Will walked down a deserted hallway and tucked himself inside a corner, trying to find as much privacy as possible.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Hannibal just fucking _winked_ at me.”

Beverly’s laughed echoed from the other end of the phone. “He what?”

“You heard me the first time!”

There was a pause.

“Will, I don’t know what to tell you. He obviously likes you, so what’s stopping you from making a move and getting together with him?”

Will sighed. He knew he couldn’t tell her why, she wouldn’t _understand_. No one possibly could.

“I just can’t, Bev.” He said quietly.

“Okay. Whatever. I gotta go, alright? Call me if anything else happens. Love you.”

Will muttered a “love you too” into the speaker and hung up, pocketing his cellphone. He sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes.

That man was going to be the death of him.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start off by apologizing for being gone so long. I was super burnt out, and then more recently I got very, very sick (I still am, but I'm a bit better)--so I really haven't been able to write this, and I'm sorry about that. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's quite short; but I'd like you to know that we're getting close to the good stuff!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS:  
> Panic attack

Will was driving down the road, windows down and country music blasting, with a brand-new muddy labradoodle in his backseat. 

He’d been doing surprisingly well lately. Nothing above-friendly had happened with Hannibal in over a week, and his anxiety levels were lower than usual (maybe there was a direct correlation there. Will wasn’t entirely sure). The dog--whom Will had christened Louis--let out an enthusiastic bark, and Will smiled. 

He felt genuinely _happy_. The wind in his hair, the sun in his eyes, and not a care in the world. He belted out the lyrics of the song that came on, laughing when Louis began to howl along with him. The green forestry around him blurred as he sped down the road, sun flashing through the trees and making him squint (he really didn’t mind, though). 

Will pulled up to his house, cranking the volume dial down as he did so that the dogs wouldn’t hear and go absolutely feral. He stepped out of the car and shook his head in an attempt to tame his wild, wind-blown curls, and opened the door for Louis, smiling as he happily bounded out of the car. He sighed, content.

Days like these were rare, but _fuck_ if he didn’t love them when they came around. It always managed to shock him just how light he felt; almost like he could float away. He gave Louis a bath outside (which was quite difficult with how energetic the dog was) before bringing him inside to formally introduce him to the others. 

“Guys, this is Louis. Louis, meet everybody.” He gestured to the giant huddle of dogs, all staring intently. Louis trotted over to the others, excitedly bumping noses with them in an attempt to say hello. Will couldn’t hold back a smile. Thankfully, the dogs took to it well, wagging their tails in return and getting up to play with their new friend. 

Will fell into the couch with a sigh and let his head fall back; a smile graced his face. _Quietude, at last_.

Perhaps that thought was cursed, because the next thing he knew, it was five hours later, and his phone was buzzing in distress, caller ID spelling out none other than Hannibal Lecter. Will looked around in a panic, confused as to how the hell six hours had passed by.

“Yes, alright!” He yelled, when his phone refused to stop ringing, and picked it up, pressing answer. “Hello?”

“Will!” Came the tinny—yet painfully recognizable—voice from the other side of the phone. 

“Yes?” He asked, voice laced with razorblades.

Hannibal either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I was wondering if you would be up for a dinner party I’m hosting this Saturday?”

“Sorry,” Will said, biting his lip until he could feel the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. “I don’t think that’s the best idea for me.”

“Oh. Yes, yes, of course.” Will felt a twinge of regret in his stomach at how sad he sounded. “Maybe next weekend we could have another dinner, just you and me?”

“Alright. That works.”

“Splendid! I’ll see you then, _mylimasis_.” Will’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask what that meant, he heard the short beeps of the dial tone.

Alarmingly quiet, he sat down and quickly pulled up google translate, hands shaking as he did. 

_Mylimisis_ , he typed in, and it was autocorrected to the correct spelling. The only thing in the room that could be heard was Will’s sharp breath when he saw the English translation.

_Lover_  
_Beloved_  
_Darling_  
_Love_  
_Precious_  
_Sweetheart_

Different words, but relatively the same meaning. Hannibal could have had but one intention with the use of that term, and it was currently launching Will into a panic attack. His breaths were shallow, and his eyes welled up with tears; the room around him blurred and span. He coughed out a sob, and snot ran down his face too fast for Will to swipe away with the sleeves of his sweater.

_No. No fucking way. He can’t love me, it’s not safe for him. I’ll break him, and he’ll leave me._

That was a given. Will carried too much baggage, and he couldn’t just dump it on another person. He knew that would be what he’d end up doing, too. Hannibal would get crushed under the weight of all Will’s issues, and then, just as Will had gotten fundamentally attached to him, he’d leave. It was unsafe for Hannibal, it was unsafe for Will—it was unsafe for the both of them.

Love wasn’t something Will could do. It just wasn’t.

And he cared too much about Hannibal to let him get shattered. 


End file.
